


Just What I Needed

by c00kie



Series: Bloodletting [1]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00kie/pseuds/c00kie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben is a vampire who has lived in Pawnee since its founding. He lives a life of solitude, feared by most of the town. One day he meets Leslie, who wants his help with her book.  They strike up an unlikely friendship that becomes something more even as the world  and Ben's own self doubt conspires to tear them apart. AKA Ben is a grumpy vampire who does sexy things to Leslie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just What I Needed

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ash for the inspiration and beta, Caity for the cheerleading.

Ben is taking a shortcut through Lafayette park on his way home from the butcher's when she runs out in front of him, grabs his arms and says his name all while smiling so wide it hurts his own face.

"Hi, Ben!" 

He stills, not because she knows him, most of the town knows who and what he is, but rather from the lack of fear in her voice. While most people give Ben wide berth, or call him names like 'vamp boy' and tell him to go back to the grave, or, on rare occasion, gather their stakes and pitchforks and try to burn his house down, she's right there, close enough that if he wanted, he could grab her and pull her to him. He can hear her heartbeat and the blood running through her veins and it’s actually quite tempting. They’re alone, he could easily silence her and drive his teeth into her neck, sucking her dry, leaving her corpse on the ground for someone to find. 

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

She’s not going to hurt him? Does she really think he’s afraid of her? A tiny woman? He laughs at the thought. 

“Excuse me,” he says, moving to pass by again. 

“No, wait.” She grabs onto his coat sleeve and again, Ben stills from the shock of someone touching him. He stares at her hand until she lets go of the cloth, but he doesn’t move away. 

“Tell me what you want,” he sighs. 

“I need your help.” 

Of course she does. When the citizens of Pawnee aren't demanding he 'go back to' Transylvania they're wanting him to do their taxes. "My number is in the phone book, my office hours are nine to-" 

"Not that," she says, waving her hand dismissively, "I need your help with my book." 

He blinks, thinking the woman is clearly insane. “What?" 

Ben realizes two seconds after asking he shouldn't, because if the term verbal diarrhea were to ever apply to anyone, it would be this woman. 

“I’m writing a book about the history of Pawnee, and while I know most of it by memory," she stops to smile as if incredibly proud of herself, "I thought it would be good to have a source that was there and that’s you!” She pokes him in the chest, giving him a blinding smile. 

Insane. Truly. 

He repeats the only part he understood. “You’re writing a book?” 

“Wrote,” she corrects, “I wrote a book. But there are a few things I need clarification on.” 

“I see”- Ben sticks his hands in his pockets- “I’m afraid I won’t be much help, Ms?” 

“Knope. Leslie Knope.” 

“Ms. Knope. I may be as old as Pawnee, but I was hardly an active participant.” 

She tilts her head, studying him. “You know, I don’t find that hard to believe. You do have that whole anti social brooding thing going on. Aren’t you tired of being a cliche?” 

“What?” 

“Come on,” she says, “I will buy a pint of blood from the butcher if you answer my questions.” 

Ben stares at her. “Are you mad?” 

She just keeps smiling. 

Ben expects, hopes, that Ms. Knope will have changed her mind about coming over, but he has no such luck. At ten after six, she’s at his front door, holding her purse in one hand and a pint of blood in the other. 

"Hi," she says, far too cheerfully, "I got you pigs blood I hope that's okay. Wait, I never asked, do you drink human blood? Because-" 

“Come in,” he sighs, opening the door fully so she can walk past him. He gets a whiff of her scent, a combination of fruits and cream he doesn’t find appalling. "And the pig's blood is fine," he says, taking it. “Would you care for something to drink?” 

“I’ll take coffee,” she says, looking around his living room. “Wait, do you drink coffee?” 

“I do.” It’s one of the few human indulgences he enjoys. “I will put the pot on. Please, sit.” 

When he returns, he finds her on his couch, her binder open in her lap, digging in her purse for a pen. “Ahah!” she rejoices, holding up a blue ball point pen. “Found it. No wait, that’s not the one I wanted.” And she begins rummaging again. “You know, I have to say, this isn’t what I expected.” 

“What did you expect?” 

“Oh you know, candlelight and red velvet, maybe even a coffin. Wait, do you have a coffin?” 

“No.” 

“Oh.” If he’s not mistaken, she actually sounds disappointed. “Well in any case, I didn’t expect this. It’s so...normal. It looks like an accountant lives here.” 

“I am an accountant.” 

He’s not sure why this is so amusing to her, but her giggles soon become a full on belly laugh. 

“Ms. Knope?” 

“Please, Ben, call me Leslie,” she says with a hiccup. 

“I prefer formality, if you don’t mind.” 

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m calling you Ben.” 

He can tell he has no choice in the matter, so he gives a flippant motion of his hand. “Very well. The coffee should be done by now. How do you take yours?” 

“Ten sugars and cream.” 

Ten sugars? Well this certainly explained a few things. He can only imagine what her blood tastes like. “Very well.” 

He makes her coffee and brings it to her, she takes a sip and sets it on a coaster, then digs through her purse again, pulling out a can of whipped cream. 

“You carry whipped cream?” 

She blinks at him as she puts an obscene amount on her coffee. “Of course.” 

Eventually she opens up her binder to a blank piece of paper and smiles at him. "Where do you want to start?" 

"It's your book, Ms. Knope." 

"I know, I just thought you might have a particular anecdote you would want to share." 

"I have nothing of the sort," Ben says, taking another sip of his coffee and placing it on the coaster. "I really do think you're wasting your time." 

"How did you become a vampire?" 

"I thought your book is about Pawnee." 

"It is, I'm just curious." 

He thinks about evading her question, even demanding she leave, but decides there's no harm in answering her question. "I was bitten." 

Her eyes widen and she looks like a kid about to listen to a particularly spooky campfire story. "By who?" 

Ben leans forward, as if to tell her his deepest secret. He regrets it though, once he realizes how close they are. If he thought the park was a good place to kill her, it has nothing on his own home. He sits back, in an effort to curb the urge to press her into the couch. "A vampire." 

Leslie doesn't laugh. "Are you always this evasive?" 

"Ask your questions about Pawnee, Ms. Knope." 

She rolls her eyes but looks down at her list of questions. "Did you know John Chester Newport?" 

He clenches his teeth, the urge won't go away. "No." 

"What about Albis or his brother Albix?" 

"I believe they were the same person, but no, I did not have acquaintance with the man." 

"Okay," she says slowly, leaning over to grab her coffee. It gives him view of her ample breasts. He imagines sinking his teeth into them, draining the life out of her. He shoots to his feet and walks away, needing to separate himself from the temptation. 

"Did you know anyone?" She seems not to notice his distress. 

He can see her veins though her skin. All he would have to do is reach for her and she would be his to drink. He clenches his fists. "No, I cannot say I have." 

"You're telling me you've lived here since it's founding, one hundred and ninety four years, and you've never had a single friend?" She shakes her head, as if that's the worst thing she's ever heard. "Ugh. Clearly you can't help me with my book." 

"I believe I told you as much." 

She studies him in such a way that he feels like she's looking into his soul. It's unsettling to say the least. 

"Ms. Knope-" He starts to tell her that considering he cannot help her with her book, it would be for the best if she leave him be in the future, but she doesn't give him the chance. 

"I am going to go," she says, gathering her belongings, "will you be here tomorrow evening? Say seven?" 

He wants to lie and say no, but something tells him she'll be able to tell. "I will be here." 

"Great," she smiles again and his heart jumps. "I'll see you then." 

He follows her to his door, clenching his fists so he doesn't grab her and spin her around, doesn't push her into the wall and bite her pretty neck. 

A day later she shows up, exactly as promised. 

"Ms. Knope." 

"I did some thinking and I decided that enough is enough," she says, barging past him with a canvas bag full of what looks like craft supplies inside. The whole thing makes him feel anxious but curiosity gets the better of him. 

"Enough of what, Ms.Knope?" 

She casts a glare in his direction before taking a seat on his couch. "Enough of your stupid brooding solitary vampire crap. You need a friend, Ben, and I'm going to be it." 

Ben shuts his eyes and counts to twenty. "Am I to assume you plan on doing this? With"- he looks into the bag- "sudoku puzzles and knitting?" 

"I wasn't sure what you would like, but we're going to find you a reason to smile." 

"Being alone makes me smile." She gives him a look and he sighs. "Fine, I enjoy puzzles." 

She throws one of the Sudoku books. He catches it. "Thank you." 

"Great. I'm going to do some work while you do these. Will you turn on C-SPAN?" 

He does and then goes into the kitchen to retrieve a pen and to drink some blood, in the hopes that it will stave off his craving for her. 

She comes over the next day with a puzzle. "Mount Rushmore, 300 pieces! I thought we could do it together." She's beaming, practically jumping up and down unable to contain her own excitement. It's all too endearing, filling Ben with dread. 

He frowns at the picture on the box. "Do I have a choice?" 

"You always have a choice, Ben." 

Wishing that were true, Ben sighs and takes the box. "Come in, Ms. Knope." 

Ben's never been a fan of Shakespeare, but when she smiles at him as she steps inside his house, he understands what he meant when he wrote Juliet was the sun. He considers the irony for a second before joining her in his living room where she's setting up the puzzle. 

"I gotta tell you I was a little disappointed with your story about how you became a vampire," she says, pulling the edge pieces out. 

"I didn't tell you how it happened." 

She shrugs, locking two pieces together. "True. So what was it?" 

"What was what?" he says, looking at the pieces and not her for fear of what he might feel if he meets her eyes. Perhaps she is the sun and he'll burn to ash. 

"Who sired you? That is what you call it right? Was it your lover?" 

"I've never had a lover." 

"Never?" 

Ben chances a glare at her. "No. I've had sex, Ms. Knope. But not in the manner you're referring too." 

"Oh." If he's not mistaken she sounds disappointed. 

"If you must know, I was attacked while traveling." 

"My version is better." 

Ben chokes down a laugh. "Sure." 

It becomes a regular occurrence. She doesn't visit every day, but when she does he no longer goes through the pretense of being surprised. He just lets her inside and they work in companionable silence before working on their puzzle. Jefferson's almost finished apart from his chin and the other presidents are in various stages of completion. 

"Is it true people have special smells to vampires?" 

He thinks he might have a part of Roosevelt's mustache. "Yes." 

"What do I smell like?" 

He considers her question for a minute. The truth is Leslie doesn't smell like one thing, but a multitude of scents, including but not limited to, cream, warm sugar, strawberries, paper, and wildflowers. 

"A park." 

For a second he thinks she might hug him, but she doesn't move, only smiles a soft smile that makes him need to disappear into the kitchen for a moment to drink and catch his breath. 

"I know who you are," she says, following him. "I got curious and looked you up. I didn't actually expect to get anything, but then I came across this"- she pulls out a photocopy of an old picture of a younger man full of dreams and ambition that shares his face- "and there was an article attached to it, about a young mayor who was run out of town after bankrupting his small town in a development deal gone sour." 

Ben clasps his hands together but says nothing. 

Leslie frowns and looks back at the picture. "It said you had a fiance, who was she?" 

He considers not answering, or telling her to leave. "Her name was Cindy," he says instead, turning his back to her, even though he would rather walk out in the daylight than speak of his past. "Her family was very wealthy. I thought being married to her would help my political aspirations. She changed her mind the day before the wedding. Who wants to be married to a failed mayor?" 

"I would." 

Ben doesn't even bother to sigh. "You're a fool then." 

"So you keep saying." Her reflection in the window smiles. "Ben, this happened over two hundred years ago, don't you think it's time you let it go?" 

Ben spins around. How can he possibly make her understand? "I made a mistake." 

"We all make mistakes," she says, "Point is you tried." 

"Do you remember the first time we met?" 

Ben peers up at her. They've both been working in silence for the last hour when she asks. 

"We met a month ago, Ms. Knope, of course I remember." 

"No, I mean before. The actual first time we met." 

He shakes his head, not knowing what she's talking about. "What?" 

Leslie claps her hands together, grinning so wide Ben thinks her facial muscles are going to strain. "It was 1985, I was ten and trying to sell enough Girl Scout cookies to go to Space Camp and you were...uh, you and I asked you to buy some cookies and you did, because you didn't want to see me cry." 

As much as Ben doesn't want to admit it, he does remember that moment. "I threw them away." 

"My mom ordered me to never talk to you again." 

"She was right." 

Leslie rolls her eyes but otherwise ignores him as she continues. "But I would watch you, whenever you were around. I spent a lot of time in Lafayette park just so I could watch you while you walked home-" 

"That's creepy-" 

"You were the first man I ever had a crush on. Well, you and Joe Biden, but I mean come on. Who doesn't have a crush on Joe Biden?" 

Ben can only stare at her, thinking his initial assessment of her was correct. She is certifiably insane. 

"Does your mother know of our acquaintanceship, Ms. Knope?" 

Leslie's silence is her answer. 

Ben nods and feeling resigned, exhales. "You should tell her." 

"I will." 

"I told her." 

Ben looks up from the puzzle. "What did she say?" 

"She doesn't like it," Leslie says, shrugging, "but, while I respect her opinion a great deal, she's wrong about this." 

Personally, Ben agrees with Leslie's mother, but it doesn't seem like telling her this would be prudent at the moment so he looks down and pushes part of Jefferson's forehead in. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"If I said no, would that stop you?" 

Leslie laughs, picking up a green piece and turning it over between her thumb and forefinger. "Is it true, about soul mates?" 

Ben doesn't ask what she means. It's a legend among his kind, that there is a person they are meant to be with, who they will love so deeply and without measure that being without them will cause them to fall into a bloodlust no amount of feeding will quench until they are able to be with them again or commit suicide. "It's superstition." 

"It's romantic." 

"Not really." 

A few mornings later, Ben opens a new jar of blood and pours it into a cup to warm in the microwave. When it's done he takes it out and notices an odd smell, but he thinks nothing of it as he takes his first sip. 

Both he and the cup crash to the floor. 

He wakes up to her voice. 

“Drink this,” she says, pressing the cup of blood to his lips. 

“I can’t,” he groans, her voice sounding loud in his ear. “poisoned.” 

She immediately drops the jar, the blood splashing everywhere, including her clothes, the couch and the bare skin on his arm, burning him like acid. He jumps, screaming. Leslie runs out, returning seconds later with a cup of water that she pours on his arm. 

“Thank you.” 

“How did you drink this?” she asks, picking the broken cup up. 

“I didn’t. It burned my lips.” Now that he thinks about it, he thinks the smell before was garlic. 

She stares at his mouth. “Oh. Well you stay here, I’m going to get all of this cleaned up and then I’ll go get you a fresh pint.” 

“No. They will know it’s for me,” Ben says, rolling to his side. He can't trust the butcher's again. 

“I didn’t mean from the butcher,” Leslie replies, stroking his hair. It’s an odd kind of comfort, the kind he doesn’t want, but enjoys nevertheless. “My best friend, Ann, is a nurse. She can get you blood. Is there are particular type you like? A positive? B Negative?” 

“No.” Ben stares into Leslie’s eyes, trying desperately to understand her motivation for wanting to save his life. “You would do that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Do you really have to ask?” She kisses the top of his head. “I’ll be back soon.” 

He grabs her hand. “Thank you.” It’s his last coherent thought before she returns. 

Ben’s unaware how much time passes, but when he wakes it’s still dark outside and Leslie’s voice is telling him to drink. He tilts his head and opens his mouth, tasting hot, clean blood. He sits up and grabs the cup out of her hand, downing the contents in a few short gulps. 

“Wow.” 

It’s not Leslie who says it, but a second voice. Ben raises his eyes, seeing a pretty woman dressed in a nurses uniform. “You must be Ms. Perkins.” 

“Ann,” she says, “Leslie’s told me a lot about you.” 

“I’m going to find something to clean up this stain,” Leslie tells them, leaving the room. 

“Thank you.” Ben gestures with the cup. 

“I didn’t do it for you,” Ann says. 

“I know, but nevertheless, thank you.” 

“I hope you know this a one time deal. There are patients at the hospital who need this blood. You’re going to have to find a new source and that source better not be Leslie.” 

Ben wants to laugh, but it hurts. Ms. Perkins just eyes him, wagging her fingers. 

"If you so much as look at her neck-" 

"I promise, I will not harm Ms. Knope." 

Ms. Perkins still looks skeptical, but she nods. "Good. Because I watched Bram Stoker's Dracula ten times when I was eighteen. I know what to do." 

Ben decides not to tell her that both Stoker's novelization and most of popular culture's depictions on how to slay a vampire are inaccurate. 

Ben can’t help but laugh, even though it makes him feel dizzy. “What about you, Ms. Perkins? Could I use you?” 

“No.” 

“Pity,” Ben says with a put upon sigh. “I’m going to shower. Please inform Ms. Knope not to bother with the carpet. I’m going to have to burn this room anyway.” 

It takes a few days for Ben to recover. Eventually he's well enough to venture out of his room to the now clean couch. Leslie's there, watching a movie about children flying around on broomsticks playing a very convoluted game with several balls. 

"What is this?” 

“Harry Potter.” 

He's not completely behind on current events, he likes modern television and literature. He’s heard of this Harry Potter character. “Which one is he?” 

“He’s the one with the black hair who’s chasing after the snitch.” 

“What on Earth is a snitch?” 

“It’s that ball right there!” She points, jumping up as Harry catches it. “Go Harry!” she sits back down. “Sorry, I just really like that part.” She gives him a soft nudge with her shoulder and crosses her leg over his. He tries not to jump at the intimacy of such contact and focuses on the movie. 

"I poured out all the blood you had in the fridge, I wasn't sure what was safe and what wasn't. There's a new jug in the fridge, I got it from Ron who slaughtered and drained the pig himself." 

"Thank you." 

"No problem. We had a barbeque," she says, taking a hold of his hand. "Watch this part." 

He can't watch though, not when her hand is small in his and her skin is so soft. He absently rubs his thumb against her wrist. She shivers at the touch and he tries to pull his hand away, but she lets out a sigh and the next thing he knows she's in his lap, her fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back, kissing him with the same dedication she puts into her work. He loses himself in the moment, kissing her back with a vigor he hasn't felt in at least a century, his hands roaming and lips exploring every bit of skin he can reach until he comes to a spot where all he can think of is digging his teeth into. He stops, realizing just how close he is to hurting her. 

"Ben?" She sounds worried, but not scared. She's never scared, even though she should be. 

"If you knew," he says, aware of how rough his voice sounds and unable to stop running his hands over her, "how, what I think about doing to you, you would run." 

She strokes his chin with her thumb. "I know. I also know you would never hurt me." 

"How?" He needs to know because he doesn't. 

"I just do," she answers. "What would you do if I kissed you again ?” 

“You don’t want to find out.” He doesn't know. 

“I see”- Leslie smiles- “your threats are cute.” 

“They’re not meant to be cute, Ms. Knope. They’re meant to be frighten you.” He looks her up and down. “You have goose pimples.” 

“Those aren’t from being scared.” 

Ben rubs his face. “Tell me, Ms. Knope, do you ever get tired of being a cliche? Why must all women lust after vampires?” 

“I don’t lust after vampires. Just you." She puts her mouth over his, and for a second Ben's frozen, unable to move but then he breaks; the carefully constructed blocks he’s built tumble down. He smoothes his hands up her back and into her hair as she slides her tongue across his teeth. He growls, kissing her hard enough that he tastes copper. He breaks the kiss, bending back to look at her. Her lips are swollen, her skin flushed, her hair a mess. 

"You're not going to hurt me," she says it like it's a sure fact, like the ocean is wet or the Cubs are never going to go to a World Series. 

"You have far too much faith in me." 

She smiles, her eyes shining as she plays with his hair. "One of us has to." 

Ben carefully moves Leslie off him and stands to his feet. She follows him into the kitchen where he leans against the counter and tries to collect himself. He feels her small hand on his shoulder and allows her to turn him around, wanting her to see his dark eyes and sharp teeth. To see what it is she claims she wants. She doesn't react to his appearance though, and Ben closes his eyes as Leslie rubs her thumb across his jawline. "I know you don't believe you deserve to be loved-" 

He circles his fingers around her wrist, stilling her as he looks deep into her eyes. "It is not a matter of belief, Ms. Knope. It is knowledge, pure and simple." 

"It's not simple," she says, her smile still gentle, "because I love you. Explain that." 

"You're a lunatic?" He says it to goad a reaction, but even though her eyes darken at his insult, she doesn't pull or push him away like he expects. Instead, she yanks him down his collar, kissing him hard, licking his fangs. 

He reacts by kissing her back, by taking control and taking her hands and swinging her around until he can lift her up on his kitchen counter. She hisses out a "yes" but Ben's too busy ripping open her blouse to care. 

He ducks his head down, kissing and biting his way down her chest to the valley between her breasts. She arches toward him, allowing him to push her bra out of his way so he can take her into his mouth. He can smell her, can sense without touching her just how wet she is. It's all consuming, enough to make him sick with bloodlust. 

He kisses her again, pushing his tongue into her mouth without any finesse. If Ben thinks it'll get her to react negatively, he's wrong. She just kisses him back, responding in kind. 

In all of Ben's three hundred years, no one has ever come close to making him feel what Leslie Knope does. 

The realization scares Ben to his core, so he pulls away, backing up into the counter on the other side. "You don't want this." 

"Stop telling me what I want." 

He shakes his head. "Put your blouse back on, Ms. Knope. And leave." He doesn't wait for her, walking out of the kitchen and into his office, locking the door behind him. 

The next day Ben locks his door and pulls his curtains in, refusing to let her in. It's for her own good, he tells himself when she yells through the door he's a coward and should get over himself already. When she pounds on his window he can see her silhouette and it takes every ounce of control he possesses not to go to her. Instead he locks himself in his office, puts on his noise cancelling headphones and turns his music up as loud as he can to try to drown her out. 

He doesn't know when she leaves but when he gets tired enough for bed she's gone. 

That night he dreams he is Icarus and Leslie is the sun. 

The pattern continues for the next week. He ignores her calls, deletes her messages without reading them, erases all of her emails. He never answers his door. 

He tells himself it's for her own good, that he's doing her a favor by avoiding contact, but the truth is the longer he goes without her, the harder it becomes. He dreams of her still, of kissing her and turning to ash, of giving into the evil inside him and drinking her dry, of watching her grow old and dying and becoming rot and decay. 

The puzzle mocks him. 

He shoves the pieces into the box and sets it on the front door with a note to take it back. 

She responds by leaving him a box of Girl Scout cookies. 

This time, he eats two thin mints before shoving the box into the back of his freezer. 

Leslie doesn't show up on the eighth day. He tries to be relieved but that night he dreams she crawls into his bed with him and surrounds him with wet heat, that every roll of her hips sets him on fire, that when she leans down to kiss him, he turns to ash. He wakes up drenched in sweat and with a pang in his stomach that doesn't go away no matter how much pig blood he drinks. 

Ben has no memory of going to her house. He gets as far as the steps when he realizes where he is. The door opens before he can turn around. She stands in her doorway, annoyed and tired and all he can do is stare at her. 

"Are you here to apologize for being a jerk?" 

He ignores the question and closes the gap with two quick steps, picking her up before she can protest and steps across her threshold, carrying her just far enough so he can kick her door closed and spin her around to push her against it. He's on fire, every nerve inside him threatening to burst as she tightens her legs around his waist and runs her hands through his hair. Her lips are poison, burning his. He can't stop though, reaching between their bodies to stroke her clit through her pants. She cries out and he snaps and sinks his teeth into her neck. 

She tastes like heaven. 

The cloud in his mind lifts, and all he can hear is the slow yet steady beat of her heart. His eyes dart down to her neck, along the long line of blood trailing down her clavicle from the two puncture marks in her skin. He drops to his knees, taking her with him and cradling her in his arms. 

Her eyes flutter open and close for a few moments, her breath shallow, her pulse weak and skin pale. He takes off his shirt and balls it up to press against her neck to stop the bleeding. She coughs, opening her eyes. He sees the fear he feels reflected back at him and starts to utter apologies. Her eyes flutter closed again and Ben strokes her hair for a minute before instinct kicks in and he picks her up and carries her up the stairs to her bedroom. 

Ben places Leslie on the bed and removes her shirt, throwing it in the direction of the hamper. He then sits her up against her headboard, placing a pillow behind her, and runs into her bathroom to find a clean washcloth; running it under some hot water and squeezing out the excess. He searches for her first aid kit but all he finds is a million half empty bottles of shampoo, makeup and various other products, but nothing that resembles medicine for cuts or bruises. 

His hands shake as he cleans the blood off her skin. He tries not to look at her chest too much, because the truth is he can still taste her on his tongue and it has left him wanting. His only comfort is she didn't drink any of his blood so she's still human. If he turned her he doesn't know what he would do. 

"I'm going to be right back." He promises his return even though he's not sure if she's even listening and goes in search of her first aid kit. 

Ben finds it in her kitchen in the cabinet next to a box of brownie mix. He grabs the metal box and then after a second's hesitation, the brownie mix and sets it down on the counter to make after he's cleaned her up. 

When he goes back to her room she's awake and sitting up, her knees pulled to her chest and clutching her comforter. 

"You should be resting." 

"What happened?" She doesn't sound scared, but rather curious. He shakes his head and sits next to her. 

"I…" Ben doesn't know how to explain it to her, because really he doesn't understand it himself. "I think you're going to be okay, but do you want me to call Ann or take you to the hospital?" 

"No. I want you to tell me what the fuck happened." 

Ben hangs his head. "I lost control." 

"Yeah, I got that. Why? Was the blood Ron gave you no good? Did you…" She trails off, her eyes widening as the wheels and cogs in her head turn. "Oh," she whispers. 

He doesn't know what conclusion she's just came up with, but it doesn't matter at the moment. He pours some peroxide on a cotton ball. "This is going to sting." 

Leslie winces and curses as he applies to cold alcohol to her neck, but otherwise she just watches as he cleans the wound and applies a bandage on it. "I uh, don't think it'll scar but you're going to be bruised there for awhile." 

When she doesn't reply he looks at her and laughs when he sees she's fallen back asleep. He kisses her forehead without thinking and lays her down and goes back downstairs to make those brownies. 

Seeing as Ben's never actually baked before, he makes sure to follow every instruction on the box to letter. 

He tastes the batter out of curiosity and frowns, unsure if that is what it's supposed to taste like, but he pours it into a 9 by 10 inch greased pan anyway and puts it into the oven, setting the timer for forty minutes. 

Ben bides his time while waiting by checking on Leslie and reading a book about Eleanor Roosevelt he pulls off her shelf. When the book doesn't do anything for him he starts to go through the stacks of boxes and various things in her living room as if the secret to figuring her out is between the copies of Life Magazine and phone books, but thankfully the timer goes off. He checks the middle of the brownies as instructed but it comes out wet. He puts them back in, setting the timer for another twenty minutes as suggested by Betty Crocker and goes back to read. 

Twenty minutes later they're still not done. 

"What the hell?" he says, poking the unbaked brownies with a fork. 

"The temperature gauge is broken." 

Ben spins around and Leslie's voice. "You should be sleeping." 

"I woke up." She walks past him and closes the oven, turning the temperature up. 

"So." She leans against the counter, closes her eyes and sighs. He takes a step closer, sure she's going to fall over. Leslie just laughs, like she knows something he doesn't and turns her back to him while she takes out the brownies. 

"Thank you." 

He doesn't know why she's thanking him. "You're welcome." 

Ben double checks to make sure the oven is off and then puts his hands on Leslie's shoulders, guiding her through the mess to her couch. "This house is a nightmare how do you even live in it?" 

"It is a little cluttered," she admits, tucking her feet underneath her and patting the cushion next to her. "but I have a system." 

Ben raises his eyebrow but refrains from making a comment. "Do you want a brownie?" 

"Yes please." 

This time he doesn't kiss her when he gets up even though the instinct is still there. He mumbles a curse at himself under his breath as he goes to get her a brownie. She beams at him when he hands it to her. He watches carefully as she takes a bite, convinced he did something wrong, but she just smiles and eats it like it's a perfectly decent brownie. 

Then she moans and it becomes too much and he has to look away. 

"Are you okay?" 

Ben rubs his forehead and laughs. 

"There's some blood in the fridge if you're hungry." 

He looks at her so fast it strains his neck. "I saw that. Why is it in there?" 

"I knew you were coming." She says so matter of fact it makes him feel like he's spinning. "Be prepared. That's the Girl Scout motto." 

His mind flashes to that tiny girl who cried until he bought her cookies and it sends a wave of nausea through him. To think he had hurt the one person who he cared about the most. 

He should leave, go far away from Pawnee and Leslie, some place where he can't ever be tempted to hurt her again. 

Yet that thought makes his gut twist. 

"I can hear you thinking," she says, "and you need to stop it. We both know that separating yourself from me made you do this,"-she gestures to her neck-"so just stop it." 

He does not want to know how it is she knows what he's thinking. "It was simple bloodlust, Ms. Knope." 

She rolls her eyes. "Unless you didn't drink any of that blood Ron got you, I highly doubt that. We both know what caused this." 

"We do?" 

"Yes. You're in love with me." 

Ben's mind stops working, his mouth dropping open. It's one thing for him to think about it in the corners of his mind, even if he's never actually let himself speak the word, but it's another for her to say it, so matter of fact and with a smile like it's something to be celebrated. 

"What?" 

She keeps smiling, moving closer to him. "If it helps, I love you too." 

It actually doesn't help at all. "No." He stands, moving to the other side of the room, as far away as possible. "No." 

She stands, her body waving slightly, but then she looks right into his eyes. "No? Let's make one thing perfectly clear here. You do not get to tell me how I feel about you." 

"I nearly killed you!" He shouts, needing it to sink into her. "Look at yourself. You can barely stand, your neck is bruised and it is only by a miracle you didn't lose more blood. I am a monster, Ms. Knope, the sooner you realize that, the sooner you accept it, the better." 

To Ben's discontent, Leslie's expression softens and she walks toward him, slow but with sure steps until she has him trapped against her mantle. Her smile turns wicked as she runs her hands up his arms, her fingers digging into his biceps. He wants to look away, but the fire in her gaze has him locked as well. 

"Did I ever tell you about Mark?" 

He's sure the name has come up in passing, but he fails to see how any of this is relevant. He doesn't get a chance to answer though, because she continues anyway. 

"I had a one night stand with him over seven years ago and after, I was so hung up on him and I thought he was it, that he was the one and I know seven years isn't a lot to you, but I look back at it and think wow, I was infatuated with someone for seven years." She shakes her head and laughs. 

"What's your point?" 

"My point is I thought I loved him but what I loved was a fantasy. I loved the man I came up with in my mind." 

Ben sighs. He can tell where this is going. She's going to say she loves him, the real him, but he knows better. "You're still in love with a fantasy." 

"You're a passive aggressive grumpy math nerd who writes scathing comments on internet message boards about TV shows. You're also kind and smart and you've got a cute butt and you're an amazing kisser." As if to prove her point she leans up on her toes and barely presses her lip against his. 

Her kiss is benediction. 

She steps away, as if to give him space to run away but knowing he won't. 

"Just think about it. I'll see you in the morning." She looks like she wants to kiss him but seems to think better of it. He watches as she goes back upstairs, grateful she isn't demanding he sleep with her. He's a little lost though, as to what he's supposed to do. It's clear from her mentioning morning he isn't to leave, but is he supposed to sleep on the couch? 

And why is he worried about this when there are so many other problems to focus on? 

His questions are answered though when Leslie comes back with a pillow. "You can use the afghan on the back of the couch," she says, handing Ben the pillow. If he speaks he'll say something stupid so he nods his gratitude. She smiles back and this time he knows when she goes back upstairs it will be for the rest of the night. 

"Goodnight, Ms. Knope." 

"Goodnight." 

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but Ben wakes up to birds chirping and sunlight shining through her curtains. He squints at the light. It can't hurt him while he's in doors but it's still annoying. He breathes in the smell of coffee brewing and something else he can't identify. He gets up, following the scent. Leslie's in the kitchen, making pancakes on a griddle. 

She's also singing a soft ballad he recognizes her humming during their evenings together. She turns, as if sensing his presence and smiles. "I made coffee. Cups are in that cabinet." She points to the cabinet above the coffee pot and he nods and says thank you in a voice that's too hoarse. She frowns at it and turns back to her pancakes. 

"Is there any way I can use your shower?" 

"Sure. You can use my bathroom. Towels are in the closet." 

Ben doesn't mean to snoop but while he's in the shower his curiosity gets the better of him and he starts opening and smelling her various body washes. They have names like Eclipse and Twilight and Moonlight Passion. They smell like fruit and orchids and jasmine and they're nice, but they're not Leslie. But then he turns around when he rinses his hair and spots a bottle that's almost empty and picks it up. 

Vanilla Sunrise. 

He opens the cap and inhales. It takes him back to when he was a child and would run around outside during the day with his siblings, the hot summer sun beating down on them and turning their skin brown. 

She is the sun and he wants to worship her. 

"How was the water?" she asks when he steps back into her kitchen dressed in all of the clothes he wore the night before except for his plaid shirt. That he'll probably just burn. "The hot water heater isn't so great so it tends to fluctuate between hot and cold-" 

He spins her around cups her face in his hands and kisses her. He tries to say what he can't seem to, that she's right, that he loves her, that he's sorry. He thinks maybe she understands because she melts against him, her hands clinging to the back of his shirt. 

They break apart and he can't help it, he tucks her hair behind her ear and presses a light kiss on the bruise. It looks better, not as bad as he feared. 

She shivers. 

"Ben? What's happening? Do you need to drink some blood?" 

He pulls back and smiles. "You're scared." 

"Yeah." 

Just her admitting it makes Ben grateful. He kisses the top of her head. "Everything's fine." 

"Are you sure?" 

"A positive." 

Her eyebrows furrow together. "Did you just make a vampire joke?" 

"Was it?" 

She cackles and slaps him on his shoulder. He pretends it hurts and draws her back in. 

"You're right." 

"About what?" she asks into his shoulder. 

"Us." 

A pink blush covers her cheeks but she doesn't reply, just leans up and brushes her lips across his. 

The voice comes back though, insisting he can't do this. It's right. He's broken and Leslie should see that, but he's tired of listening to it. He's tired of living in the dark. 

He holds Leslie’s arms above her head, pressing his body up to hers trapping her against the counter. “Ms. Knope.” He whispers against her lips. She only smiles, trails her nail down his neck. 

His resolve breaks, sending Ben to his knees. He puts his hands on her hips to keep them from shaking, but he's sure she can still feel them tremble. There are words he wants to say to her, declarations of love and promises to never leave her but they stick in his throat. He places his lips against her skin instead, then his forehead and counts each inhale and exhale. He's been dead for so long, in so many ways, but Leslie is life. 

His life. 

He pulls her pants down to her feet. She gasps when he puts his mouth on the black cloth covering her mound. He inhales, taking in her scent and the sound of her heart beat. With a growl, he grabs the panties with his teeth and yanks them until they split. She makes a cry of protest, saying something about how they were expensive, but he doesn’t care. He needs to taste her, not her blood, but her. 

“Turn around.” He commands and he can see the spark in her eyes that means she wants to fight him. Ben struggles not to smile at her defiance but he’s not going to placate her with pleasantries. 

“Say please.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. He really doesn’t have time for this. “Turn around, Ms. Knope.” 

Her mouth curves upwards. “Make me.” 

How is it possible that someone like her could possibly be attractive to him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have the patience to ponder it at the moment. Grabbing her by her waist he spins her around and bends her over over a chair, lifting her up so her ass sticks up in the air. He spreads her legs apart with his hands, raking his fingernails down her inner thighs, causing her to gasp. 

“This isn’t playtime, Ms. Knope.” 

“Don’t...” She trails off as he kisses the base of her spine. “Don’t you think you should call me Leslie?” 

He could. He supposes what he’s about to do is intimate enough to desist such formalities, but he chooses not to reply, needing her buttocks with his hands instead. He bites the tender skin, enough to bruise but not to draw blood. Kneeling behind her, he breathes in her scent before covering her mound with his mouth. She bucks forward but he merely curls his arm around her and brings her back. She’s sweet and tangy, yet clean which is far different than the women of his time. 

The last time he did this was with the last woman he ever fed off of. Someday he'll tell her about Ms. Cannon but for right now, he just wants to make Leslie feel good. 

"Ben, please." 

He kisses her thigh. "Yes, Leslie?" He makes a point to use her first name he feels the intake of her breath. Sure he's used it before, but they've been in moments of desperation. 

"I need more." 

He moves to her other leg. "More of what?" 

He knows what she wants, he can taste it on his tongue, but he's not going to relent until she says the words. 

Leslie lets out a deep breath. "I need you to fuck me." 

He doesn't react to the vulgarity except to stand up and take her hand. She laughs, her delightful cackle as he leads her into her bedroom. Once in there they fall into a flurry of removing clothes until they're both naked and falling on the bed. Her touch is soft, hesitant like she's still afraid. 

He needs to make sure she's not. 

"Do you want to stop?" 

"Never." 

"Sure?" 

Leslie's eyes are dark, just blue circles around big pupils. "I'm positive," she says, pushing the back of his head with her hands and capturing his bottom lip with her teeth. 

"Actually," he says when the kiss ends several minutes later, "you're O negative." 

She pushes him over. "I'm going to ride you." 

He raises his eyebrows as she straddles him. "That so?" he asks right as she sheaths him. He's never let himself think about this, but as her hand reaches out to hold his, Ben realizes this is better than any fantasy he could ever have anyway. 

His eyes close and he allows himself to feel the pleasure in her tight heat and the friction every roll of her hips brings. 

But then she stops. 

He meets her eyes. "Leslie?" 

"This isn't enough. You need more." 

He's about to tell her he's perfectly fine, but she's already crawling off him and pulling him on top of her, her legs circling his waist. "Take." 

He buries his face in the crook of his neck as he pushes into her, hard and unrelenting though the kisses between them are soft and slow. She falls apart in his arms, voicing his name with a harsh whisper as her muscles milk him. It only takes a few more pumps and he's falling over the edge. 

It takes a few moments for them to catch their breath. 

"You're lucky this happened on a weekend." 

Ben sighs. "I am sorry." 

"I know," she trails her finger down his chest. "And I'm still mad, but I think we're talking about different things and right now I just want to be with you. Is that okay?" 

He will eventually have to go home, if for no other reason to change. They will have to defend their relationship to Ann and her mother and anyone else who might disapprove. He will worry he's bad for her and try to push her away again, there's even the risk he might hurt her. But all of those things can and will wait, Ben concedes as he meets her lips. It's more than okay. 

It's perfect.


End file.
